The Hawk Kitchen 4:47pm
The Sky around here
is so dramatic:
The Heavy Greys
of low-lying Clouds
move across The View
out My Sliding Glass Doors
with The Sun hitting Their Layers
— The Clouds, not The Doors —
while I sit on A Cat’s Ottoman
in My Pretty But Humble
Kitchen
watching
A Gull pass over
illuminated in Silver
The Hawk West Desk Window 2:45pm
I used to go to churches
and found them hollow places
Who there would hear of My Unstoppable
Shower Of Lights?
Who there could understand The Depths
of My Enclosed Depression?
–
I used to go to churches
looking for companionship
in the rawness of being broken open
like the delicate egg
I was trying to carry
–
I used to go to churches
when I wanted to die instead —
where no Minister could make Me
whole
and no friend could balance Me
–
I used to go to churches
and now I am Home
years beyond the fragility
in the compatibility
of My Marriage
where My House is
My Church
The Hawk Basement 11:25am
My Eyes for Our Visions
My Nose for Our Memories
My Mouth for Our Delight
My Brains for Our Dreaming
My Breasts for Our Sustenance
My Genitals for Our Desire
My Arms for Our Embracing
My Hands for Our Work
My Feet for Our Mobility
–
My Innards for Our Digestion
of Me
My Heart for Our Love
The Hawk Living Room 3:42pm
When I was A Child Of Sex
I swallowed The Semen
of anonymous men
unremembered — the men
not The Taste —
now in My Upstanding Years
I have sex with One Man
and besides
We don’t do That
The Hawk Corner Room 11:45am
Love which can be pulled back
is My Grandest Weapon
how It arms Me
in The Dark
as It has for almost half My Life
It levers Me into The Remainder
for I will keep this Love hidden
and use It only if I have to
like The Crow Bar under My Bed
The Hawk Portico 5:50pm
I have fallen in love
with the spirit of the sea
encroaching as it does
upon the scrub spruce out front
and behind —
I’ll take them any day —
they house the birds
I thrive upon
they become enmeshed
in the early morning sun
and mist — outlining each branch
as if it were a star
how I love the wild here
the unleashed surf
and even, yes even
the occasional car
or truck
traversing the pavement
of My Southern Boundary
to The Atlantic
The Hawk Portico 2:22pm
–
The waves speak to Me
not as a neighbour would
but as a mother might:
“Shhh, Joge, Shhh
Everything Will Be Al-right “
–
The birds speak to Me
of the waves beyond
as if the chirps & calls
& singular silver notes
are accent marks
to the surging shoreline
–
The fog speaks to Me
through the echo of its horn
semi-distant
complimenting
the readied speech
of melodic birds
& the steady rush
of tide
–
The insects speak to Me
landing on My Pages
as if in observation
of My finalizing penmanship
telling Me to go ahead
“Soak it all in and
let it all out”
The West Desk Window 10:30pm
What is being heard
in the primordial surf
swooshing its way through
My Bedroom Window —
is it the surge I heard when My Father’s Sperm
rushed to make Me
when My Mother’s Egg
swelled and grew
to the whoosh of Her Womb
Hers and Mine?
The Hawk Corner Room 7:55pm
Are We the only planet
aligned between a sun
and a moon
in perfect symmetry
to house
Our Selves?
Joanna Gilman Hyde 